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IKARI

A Neon Genesis Evangelion short story
By Aaron Bergman

Disclaimer: Neon Genesis Evangelion © GAINAX / ProjectEva - TV Tokyo - NAS, Hideaki Anno, and AD Vision.


I've always found it amusing that everyone thinks good always triumphs over evil. I mean, come on people, figure it out; statistically, good can only win about 50% of the time…

And anyway (according to history) the 'good guys' were the ones who triumphed, talked to a good PR man who wrote up a nice story about how the other guys were evil dudes who sacrificed perfectly useful virgins and ate babies with tartar sauce (although I'd prefer something a bit more sour, to counteract the sweetness of the young meat, if you catch my drift) when all they were trying to do was crush some heads.

I guess all that means I'm the good guy. Which made Ritsuko the (if you'll pardon the slight pun) bad girl. Which made me right when I did what I had to do.

Right makes might. Or might makes right. Which came first? Hmm. An interesting paradox, don't you think? I run one hand through the lake of LCL idly, waiting for the end, and try to remember when I'd first decided that this end justified the means.

I'm certainly thinking in clichés today. I wonder if that's a sign of insanity, like talking to yourself? Wouldn't surprise me one bit.

But as I look out at Ritsuko's floating corpse, staining the LCL with her blood, an odd thought occurs to me. Who's going to take care of her cats after all this is over?

For some strange reason, that question worries me a lot more than it should. Why should I care? She tried to stop me, she tried to stop Instrumentality, just as her mother had so many years ago, both for the same reason: love, or lust, or jealousy, or whatever the fascination was that the both of them had for me. I hadn't understood her mother, and I most certainly hadn't understood Ritsuko, but I had used them as far as they would let me. And when they had each decided to turn in my hands…

I broke them, as I would any defective tool.

Why should I give a damn for their damned souls?

Maybe I am going crazy.

Maybe I am crazy.

I chuckle at the maudlin turn my thoughts have taken. Putting my head back into my hands, I stare up at the ceiling and said aloud pointedly, "Does it matter?"

And I have to answer myself, "No, not particularly."

 
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